


Relative State

by onvavoir



Series: Teumessian Fox [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relative State

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide whether Bucky stayed or went. So I wrote both.

And then Bucky's away, almost as quiet as Matt can be. The scuff of his boot soles on the steps is the sound of Matt's insides being scooped out. He stands there for several minutes after Bucky's left, as if he might by force of will get him to turn around and come back. He sighs, slumping, and goes about the business of removing the suit.

Tomorrow he'll do the research he wouldn't do before, when he made a promise to himself to let Bucky be. But now he knows, and his stomach sinks with the realisation that the person he's been spending nights with is one of the most dangerous men in the world.

 _But did you_ really _have no idea?_

He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration and strips off his shorts as he walks into the bathroom.

Sometimes when he's feeling overwhelmed, he turns on the shower and stands there until the water goes cold. The sound of the water is white noise, drowns out car horns and conversations and the electronic buzz of the billboard outside. He listens to the machine-gun fast richochet of water droplets and gives himself over to the sensation of the shower head throwing darts of water at his back and neck. He focuses his mind on those things to keep other thoughts at bay.

What would Father Lantom say to him? Probably something irritatingly true about looking within himself, but when Matt looks inside himself all he sees is rage. He thinks about what it might be like to have Bucky at his side. Ultimately, bad. He's been the subject of enough bad publicity-- it wouldn't do either of them any good for word to get out that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was connected to a known terrorist. It's a foolish, futile thought, and he hates himself for it. 

 _James Buchanan Barnes_.

It's a name he's heard before somewhere, he's absolutely certain. Maybe if he finds out the truth, he can help. He is a lawyer, after all. He rifles through a mental Rolodex for cases, precedents. Brainwashing, severe trauma, Stockholm syndrome. Dissociative fugue. People walk away from their lives and forget who they are.

Already he's building a case in his head, and he stops himself before it goes any further. After tonight, he may never see Bucky again. If someone's looking for him here, and found him, he's not safe. And Bucky's not stupid enough to put himself-- or Matt-- in danger. Matt's chest aches. He braces himself against the tiles with one arm and covers his face with the other.

_Let the thoughts float away, let your mind be blank, you are nothing, you think nothing, you feel nothing._

He kicks the shower door, and the cubicle echoes with a satisfying bang and rattle. If he weren't already sore and bruised, he'd sneak into the gym for a workout. Instead he thinks about Bucky-- not Bucky the enigma and alleged killer, but the one who comes home with him sometimes.

They've never fucked. Matt knows every inch of Bucky's body and has covered most of them with his tongue, but he always stopped short of that, never wanted to be the one to suggest it. He doesn't really know why. There's a peculiar delicacy about his relationship with Bucky, a combination of wholehearted physical intimacy and an emotional distance that he's not sure will ever be closed. It hurts his heart to know that he wants that. It twists his insides to want to _know_ Bucky and be absolutely certain that he never will.

There's nothing for it but to jerk off and go to bed.

He sets the scene in his head. It's not hard-- his imagination vividly makes up for anything he can't see. Bucky is here, he steps into the shower and shoves Matt right up against the wall.

(Matt leans his back against the tiles and shivers at the cold)

Bucky's mouth is hot and relentless, the metal hand splayed on Matt's chest and holding him firmly. The human hand closes around his cock, brisk and efficient. He's hard in no time. Quickened breath, the rhythm of Bucky's heartbeat, his heat and jesus even the _smell_ of him. He brings Matt right to the edge and then lets go. His hair brushes Matt's shoulder as he leans in to murmur in his ear.

"I'm gonna fuck you."

Matt swallows hard. When Bucky takes hold of his shoulder, Matt goes with it. His hands slap against the tiles, and Bucky pulls him, a warm hand in the small of his back and the inhuman one resolutely on his hip. Matt's head drops between his arms. 

(Slight twist of his wrist, licking his lips, one hand braced against the wall and the other around his cock) 

Fingers, probing and none too patient. Hurts a little, but sometimes he likes that. Bucky's cock nudges at him, finds its place and pushes. Matt moans-- too loudly-- and then bites his lip. Bucky takes his time, patient but inexorable. For a second Matt thinks he can't take it, can't do it, and he calls on Jesus, Mary, Christ, and Bucky to have mercy on him.

(Bless me Father, for I have sinned)

He gives himself over to the friction and drag of Bucky's cock in him, the thrill of penetration that, if he's honest, still makes him feel a little dirty.

(He wishes he'd asked Bucky to fuck him, may never get the chance again-- stupid)

Bucky takes a deep breath, in him up to the hilt, and as he breathes out his hand reaches around to touch Matt. He thrusts, and the movement of his hips drives Matt's cock into his hand. He offers up a single breathy moan that Matt absorbs and stores. Then he comes, shuddering

(Matt comes)

For a moment there's nothing, blankness, release. Then Matt comes back to himself, and the loneliness pours into the void in his chest. The corners of his mouth turn down. Shower off, he walks dripping into the bedroom and climbs into bed. He pulls the coverlet up to his chin and curls up on his side. His recondite training prevails, and before he can worry about passing watchful hours, he's asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [What if Bucky stayed?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3841690)


End file.
